One special holiday memory — which I’m writing about only now because I finally pulled the photos from my camera to my computer — was when the Christmas Eve carolers came to our house. We heard them first, when they were across the street, and lured them over here.

Our neighbor Nancy led the others with her lovely soprano, but every one of the singers held his or her own. They crooned “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” “White Christmas” and other selections, with plenty of whooping and hollering and toasting in between. (Conveniently, they carried their own wine glasses.)

Some of us stepped outside and joined them. All we lacked were the funny hats. But we knew the words, and we had the spirit. And we remember an earlier time on our street, when there were bonfires in the meadow and progressive New Year’s dinners. A time of greater camaraderie and cheer. The carolers made it seem as if those days were back.

After the revelers traipsed off to the next house my Dad turned to me and said, “That’s all I need. That made Christmas for me.” I had to agree with him.